


love takes you in

by queervampire



Series: oh sweet summer child [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Morgana, Canon Era, Clueless Arthur, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Friends to Co-Parents to Lovers, Good Guy Morgause, Kid Fic, Original Character(s), Slow Burn, ft. background Arthur/Leon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 13:36:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12322113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queervampire/pseuds/queervampire
Summary: "It wasn’t my fault!" Merlin defended, while Gwen just pointed to him and said, "It was his idea!"The baby in her arms gurgled with amusement.(The one where Merlin and Gwen become co-parents, Morgana plays matchmaker, Arthur is clueless, and magic druid babies make everything better.)





	love takes you in

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this [two-and-a-half year old post](http://onetobeamup.tumblr.com/post/123948217339/onetobeamup-unlikely-au-im-digging-this) by my new pal [Zoë](http://onetobeamup.tumblr.com) who singlehandedly dragged me back into the Merlin fandom with her beautiful Mergwen-shipping hands.
> 
> (The title is from the song by Steven Curtis Chapman and I actually can't stand it but it's the only song about adoption I know so here we are.)

Merlin wasn't sure how long he'd been trudging about the woods for, but by the way the sky turned a deep navy, it had to be near dusk. His morning walk had gone far past schedule.

At least Arthur gave him the day off, he supposed. He kicked a nearby twig and lost it somewhere in the grass.

Everyone had been a bit out-of-sorts since the whole Sigan incident. Merlin couldn't blame them; it'd been quite some time since a sorcerer had directly attacked Camelot (at least to the general public's knowledge). Arthur, for his part, had been pretty apologetic about the whole sacking thing, which was more than Merlin could have hoped for. He just wanted everything to go back to normal.

Of course, Arthur had to notice his chipper manservant wasn't his usual self and let Merlin have three days all to himself and let his mind run wild with the implications and consequences of everything that had happened. Gaius seemed to sense this wasn't the kind of help he needed. There were still plenty of injuries to handle in Sigan's wake, which left Merlin with more than enough delivery runs to shut his brain up for a few hours.

However, there were only so many errands to do and hours to spend in a day. By the second day of Merlin's impromptu holiday, Gaius had run out of jobs to make up for him to do. He ended up just asking him to check up on some patients in the court and check back with him afterwards, but advised that he take as much time as necessary.

"Really, Merlin," Gaius had said, not bothering with subtlety, "Take a walk, breathe some fresh air. It'll help the anxiety. _Go_ ," and shooed him out before he could protest.

There wasn't much of a choice. Merlin had wandered around with plenty of whining, taking the longest ways he knew to get from one courtier to another. They were slow to answer at his knocking; when he finally explained who he was and why he was there, they were all suddenly quick to throw open the door, bemoaning their trapped audience of one with all the suffering they'd endured since tripping over a carpet or something equally as ridiculous during the panic of Sigan’s attack. Merlin nodded and gave vague, sympathetic statements at the right parts, before excusing himself as soon as humanly possible and running away with the promise of medicine or an appointment with Gaius later on.

Merlin spent the better part of the morning like this. His problems slowly shrunk to a more manageable size; by midday, the weight on his shoulders had shed to a small stone in the back of his mind. He did feel better. His hunger even came back, so he headed for the kitchens with a lightness in his step.

Then he turned a corner just as Gwen did, both of them stopping just in time before Morgana's lunch tray was ruined, but leaving them in the extremely uncomfortable situation of staring at each other with very wide eyes. Merlin's first instinct was to freeze. Then he registered Gwen's shocked face, her mouth agape, all too similar to how she looked at him the other night, when an unconscious Leon's arm was bleeding terribly thanks to Sigan’s gargoyles and Merlin didn’t know what to do. He'd been sure no one was looking, so he breathed out a spell that encircled the knight's arm in a shimmering blue mist, before fading away to reveal what was then only a small scratch. He had let out a breath of relief as he looked up, only to find his best friend a few feet away. She had stared at him with poorly concealed horror. The face she made then was much to similar to the one Merlin looked at now.

He reacted the same way he had then: he ran. He ran from her, his friends, his responsibilities, his _consequences-_

Which was how he ended up here in the middle of the woods. He may have been far from the heavy shadow of Camelot's walls and kings and princes and _Gwen_ , but he could never run from his head and the things it forced him to think about. The trees hung over him like a reminder of that fact, and the quiet stream nearby did nothing to hush his thoughts. Merlin plopped down against one with his head in his hands. He still couldn't get her face out of his mind.

Gods, Gwen. She hadn't deserved to find out like that. In a perfect world, she wouldn't have known at all; not until it wasn’t _illegal_ and magic was accepted across Albion like the bloody dragon promised.

Merlin didn't want to think about Kilgharrah for now, though. Thinking about their last conversation and the promise he made hurt his head more than thinking about Gwen and the fear in her eyes, but…

He'd seen her afraid, before, in the dungeons of Camelot. A memory of her wet eyes shining as he watched her hands shake in shackles and promised to do anything to save her flashed through his mind. Now those same eyes looked at him like _he_ was the terror. That hurt his heart most of all.

The world was suddenly very blurry before him. Merlin sniffled and wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, trying to steady his breathing as his cheeks grew damp. He couldn’t - _wouldn’t_ \- cry like a child about this. It wasn’t as if his life were in imminent danger. Gwen wouldn’t turn him in. They both remembered the druid boy, a magic-user and _stranger_ (who Merlin desperately hoped would remain a benevolent one) that Gwen had never even considered taking to Uther. No, she’d never allow Merlin’s blood to stain her fingers. That didn’t mean she’d want anything else to do with him after finding out his deepest secret.

Memories of them shuffled behind his eyes: stifling their giggles over the nobles’ antics at feasts, telling jokes and stories from their childhoods in the market, sharing warm silences over laundry, racing against each other to get the last slice of tart after supper and sharing it anyway. They all shone like beacons of light in the daily struggle his life had become, before being snuffed out in an instant. A heart-piercing wail rang through the forest.

It didn’t come from Merlin.

He stumbled to his feet, his self-pity already forgotten. The crying continued while Merlin realized two things: it was definitely a baby’s cry, and that baby was right behind him.

Merlin didn’t hesitate as he ran around the trunk. He only had to turn his face toward the sound before finding its source in a clearing some steps away. As he got closer, he could see the little fists waving about from a wicker basket by the edge, poorly hidden between an oak and a shrub of some sort. The crying only got louder as he approached. By the time he was close enough to see its scrunched-up face, the wails had turned into shrieks, and the only thing Merlin could do was scoop the babe up to desperately coo at it.

It shocked him how _small_ the baby was. As assistant to the court physician, Merlin had seen his fair share of newborns. They were always so tiny, but as they had only just left their mothers’ wombs, that was to be expected. This child didn’t appear to have that excuse. It was small in the way a child should never be; it was so _thin_. Babies were supposed to fat and healthy. This one was in a state that Merlin hadn’t seen since his childhood in Ealdor and it made him sick.

“You poor thing,” he murmured, heartbroken, pulling off his neck scarf to wipe at the baby’s snot-and-tear-covered face. Its cries shrunk to little whimpers, as if in shock at the gesture. Merlin tried seeing if he could make any other observations on the child’s health. Its dark brown skin didn’t appear ashen, which he took as a good sign. Its hair was black and in little curls on its head, which didn’t mean much in a medical sense, but was rather adorable all the same.

Merlin drew his hand back once he’d finished cleaning its face. The baby did not like that at all; it let out a strange half-cry as it reached out to grasp at his scarf and _pull_. Merlin let go. The baby pulled the dirty thing close to its face and sniffled, looking like it had never wanted anything more than that single piece of cloth.

“Oh,” said Merlin, “you poor _thing_ ," and was lost for the thousandth time that week.

He looked around for… what, exactly? The baby’s parents? They were long gone by now. Besides, it was obvious they didn’t want it; no parent just abandoned their child in the woods to die. At least, no parents that Merlin knew. His mind raced through different scenarios of neglectful fathers, unwed mothers, dead parents and uncaring families viewing their inheritance as more of a burden than a gift. For all intents and purposes, the tiny thing was all alone in the world. His stomach hurt again.

The baby whimpered, and Merlin rocked it the best he could. He forced the thoughts out; none of that mattered now. The baby was obviously malnourished. It needed proper clothes, food, a bath, and medical care. It needed help. _Gaius_ could help.

Merlin nodded to himself. He’d simply take the baby to Gaius, where they’d make sure it was okay. They could worry about where it came from and what would become of it when they knew it would be fine. Decision made, he crouched again to put the child back in the basket, where it started wailing again as loud as it could.

He hushed it again and promised, “I’m not leaving you alone, okay? I’m taking you back home, see?” Merlin lifted the basket carefully. “It’ll be alright. _Please_ stop crying,” he begged, but the babe didn’t understand a word he said and didn’t quiet down until they’d passed the entrance of Camelot.

“Oh, now you tire yourself out,” he muttered. Bright blue eyes just watched him, and Merlin felt like he was being judged, somehow.

While the emptying streets were easy enough to navigate, the same couldn’t be said of the castle. Merlin tried keeping to the less used corridors and avoided the shortcuts that every servant would be using at this hour, but he still ran into more people than he would’ve preferred, though they were all in the middle of their own duties and only spared the basket at his right side a glance as they went on their way. The baby, to its own credit, slept peacefully. Merlin thanked the gods for small miracles.

That was when he promptly rounded a corner and nearly walked into Gwen _again_. He wanted to scream. Instead, he just said, “We really need to stop meeting like this.”

There was beat before Gwen laughed. It was quiet and unsure, so unlike her usual laughter, that Merlin very quickly remembered why he was avoiding her. He moved to run away again - Gaius was right up those stairs - when the smile on Gwen’s face fell and she grabbed his arm in a panic.

“Wait, Merlin,” she began, eyes wide as they bore into him. He couldn’t look at them.

“I need to go to Gaius.” Gods, he hoped his voice wasn’t shaking as much as he thought it was. He hid the basket behind him as he tried escaping Gwen’s grip. “There are errands to do, and medicines to make, and patients to see, and I just really need you to _let me go_ -”

She only held on tighter. “Can we talk? Please? I just-”

“Now isn’t the best time,” said Merlin, growing more desperate. He wasn’t avoiding her, technically. There was just a very small child who needed urgent medical care and that child chose to highlight the point by sneezing.

They both froze.

“Your basket sneezed,” said Gwen, staring at it.

“Baskets can’t sneeze.” It wasn’t a lie. The baby made a distinctly baby-sounding-gurgle to prove that, too, and Merlin took advantage of the moment to free his arm from a slack grip.

Gwen just blinked. “Why do you have a baby?”

“I don’t have a baby,” lied Merlin, speaking rapidly as he tried to hide the now very awake infant. “Why would I have a baby? There’s no baby here. I’ve never seen a baby in my life.”

A high-pitched wail filled the air in protest. He winced; Gwen looked up from the basket straight at him.

She squinted. “Merlin.”

He forced a grin. “Gwen!”

“ _Give me the baby_ ,” she said, arms held out with no room for argument. Merlin sighed. Finally lifting the basket between them, he could see the child now looked just as he’d found it: its face was covered in tears and snot once again, but now a dirty red rag laid loosely over it like a blanket, and it smelled like it had definitely soiled itself.

Gwen appeared to notice as well. Grimacing, she took the basket from Merlin’s hands. “When was the last time he was changed?”

“I don’t know. I only just found him.” He registered her words. “Wait, how can you tell it’s a he?”

Gwen stared at him in shock, again, and Merlin was really getting tired of that look. “What do you mean you ‘found’ him?” she whisper-shouted, ignoring the question.

Merlin ran a hand through his hair. Using the other to push her down the corridor, he said, “I mean, I _literally_ found it.” He lowered his voice as they passed a pair of staring maids. “It was just in that basket in the middle of the woods-”

“He was _in the woods_?!” shouted Gwen, for real this time, and the maids gasped in unison behind them. Merlin ducked his head with a pained expression. Gwen seemed to have the same feeling, collecting herself as they reached the steps and rushed up to Gaius’ chambers. She focused on hushing the baby the best that she could until Merlin shut the door behind them.

She obviously wanted to know more, but getting the babe to stop crying was a more immediate concern, especially since the smaller size of the room only seemed to make it sound _louder_. There was a bit of running around to clear off the nearest table, and finding clean rags to change the baby into was even more of a challenge with no Gaius in sight. Merlin eventually found the little section of the very confusing room where his mentor kept a few baby things in, but Gwen was the one who lifted it out of the basket to lay it on the work table and switched it into new rags, though not before making a point of proving her lucky guess right. Then she lifted him into her arms and cooed until his cries were reduced to half-hearted whimpers.

Merlin could only stare the entire time. “How are you so _good_ at that?”

“My mother was a wet nurse,” said Gwen with a shrug of her shoulders. She continued rocking the baby before sparing Merlin a glance. “Do you think he was abandoned?”

“I don’t know. He was just… all alone. And so _tiny_.” He rubbed his eyes, leaning heavily on the table. “The basket was sort of hidden by a shrub. Like whoever left it there didn’t want him to be found.”

Gwen nodded, lips pursed in a thin line. The baby drooled a little. “Abandoned, then,” she decided, using a clean corner of Merlin’s ruined neck scarf to gently wipe the baby’s mouth. “Poor thing.”

Merlin nodded in agreement and they fell into a silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but with nothing else to distract himself with besides watching Gwen and the baby, his worry trickled its way back. She had wanted to speak with him. They’d been interrupted by the baby, sure, but she had definitely not wanted Merlin to leave without saying something. He wanted to know what. He was also too scared to hear it.

Gwen suddenly looked at him, eyes staring straight into his with a grim kind of determination, but Merlin cut her off with “Why were you on this side of the castle?” before she even opened her mouth.

The question made her hesitate. There was a beat as she looked back down at the baby before saying, “I was looking for you, actually.” Her voice was quiet.

“Oh,” said Merlin, and a heavy weight settled in his belly. His mouth was dry; he had to swallow a few times before speaking again. “Why?”

She tensed up and closed her eyes. Merlin regretted ever opening his mouth.

“Because you… Because I…” Gwen stopped herself, like she needed to rest a bit. A few moments passed like that. She whispered, “You know what I saw.”

 _No, you didn’t see anything,_ was what Merlin wanted to say. _Stop talking. Take it back_. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and beg her to take it back, to give up that little memory and hand it over to Merlin so that everything could go back to normal. But Merlin couldn’t do that, so he could only say, “What did you see?” in a shaky little voice.

Gwen opened her eyes. She looked at him, and Merlin could see how scared she was, and he swore he was going to be sick with it. She opened her mouth. _Please stop talking._

“You have magic,” she said, voice barely a whisper.

Merlin couldn’t breathe.

He nearly got whiplash as the door swung open and Gaius walked in, face lighting up at his nephew. “There you are!” he said, smiling, though it quickly turned into a slight frown. “When I told you to take a walk, my boy, I didn’t mean to disappear until sundown.”

“I meant to come back sooner,” defended Merlin. He had to cough once or twice. “But I was… distracted.”

“Distracted.” Merlin could practically _hear_ the eyebrow itching to be raised.

Instead of answering, he just shuffled to the side to reveal Gwen and the distraction in question, grinning as innocently as possible while Gaius’ eyes widened.

She waved awkwardly out the corner of Merlin’s eye. “Hello, Gaius.” The babe flailed around in his own greeting.

Gaius just stared for several moments. His eyes flickered from the baby, to Gwen, to Merlin, then back again. Gwen cleared her throat a little while Merlin just kept his hands folded in front of him and stood very still, feeling like he was a young child again, waiting to be scolded by his mother for bringing whatever little creature he’d found back into the house.

Finally, a white eyebrow was raised higher than Merlin had ever seen it as Gaius settled his eyes straight on Merlin’s very soul. “Merlin,” he said, enunciating each syllable with great care. “ _What_ did you do?”

Merlin balked. "It wasn’t my fault!" he defended, while Gwen just pointed to him and said, "It was his idea!"

The baby in her arms gurgled with amusement.

There was some more frenzied explaining and arguing before Gaius took over and he hissed at them to let him look over the child in _peace_. He shooed them away to get some milk and bread from the kitchens with a pointed look sent Merlin’s way that screamed _talk about your problems or I will make you_. The walk there was possibly the most awkward silence that Merlin had ever experienced; luckily, the last of the kitchen maids that day was too tired to do anything but give them what they wanted so she could go home.

It was on the way back, however, that someone tugged hard at his sleeve and sent him tumbling with her into an empty chamber. “ _What-_ ”

The moon’s light leaked in, casting Gwen in a fuzzy silhouette as the door slammed behind her. “Merlin,” she said. Her tone made him go cold. “We need to talk about this.”

“We really don’t.”

“Yes, we _do_.” Gwen came closer and Merlin was so glad he wasn’t in the light because he didn’t know what to say if she’d realized he flinched over her simply setting the milk down on a table.

“What about forgetting anything ever happened?” he offered.

“I _can’t_.” She kept her gaze on the spot above Merlin’s shoulder. He couldn’t tell if her hands were trembling or if it was just his vision. “Unless there’s… some kind of spell-”

Merlin’s voice was harder than intended when he said, “I’d _never_ do that to you. I _promise_. I know you don’t trust me right now, but-”

“Who said anything about me not trusting you?”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that.

“I’m not turning you in,” continued Gwen, and he leaned against the table as his legs failed him because there was such a difference between knowing something and _hearing_ it. “I know it’s against the law, but I also know you’re a good person, even if I’m scared, more than anything.”

Merlin’s heart sank. “I don’t blame you for being afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of _you_!” Her look was so piercing and voice so sure that he had to look away. “Why do you keep assuming I’d hate you?”

He shrugged. “Finding out that… that your friend is a sorcerer isn’t the best news to most people.”

“Well, I’m not most people. And neither are you.”

He heard Gwen step closer. He gripped the table till his knuckles went numb to hide his shaking and shutting his eyes to hide how wet they were.

After a beat, she whispered, “Did you really think I would hate you?”

He said nothing.

There was a shaky breath. “I would never hate you. You’re my _best friend_ , and I know you saved Leon. I don’t understand, but…” Her voice broke.

Merlin looked at her again. Her eyes shined with unshed tears, and her lip trembled slightly. Oh, no. “Gwen…”

She wiped at her eyes, quickly, like he hadn’t already seen. “I trust you. _You_ can trust _me_. I know you’re scared, but so am I, and I haven’t seen you in _days_ and I’ve been worried sick over it and the whole time you thought that I hated you, as if I ever could.” A look of pure anguish was written all over her face. “You keep running. You don’t have to _run_ from _me_ , Merlin.”

She looked so miserable. It was because of Merlin, who’d been _afraid_ of her. He’d been afraid of Gwen - sweet, loyal, _wonderful_ Gwen - because he thought she would hate him. She was scared, yes, but it hadn’t been of him. Never him. He felt terrible and stupid. He felt terribly, utterly stupid. He was such an idiot.

“I’m an idiot,” he finally said, dropping the breadloaf on the table. He opened his arms.

Gwen laughed wetly and choked out, “Only sometimes.” She fell forward with her face pressed against his shoulder as they wrapped their arms around each other.

Merlin felt a wet patch form on his sleeve. His own voice broke. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, burying his face in her hair. “Gwen. _Gwen_ , I trust you, and I’m so, _so_ sorry.”

They held each other like that for who-knows-how-long, sniffling in soft moonlight. By the time they got back, it had been much longer than necessary for just going to the kitchens, and their eyes were noticeably red-rimmed. Gaius gave them a look.

Merlin shrugged with a small smile, holding the bread up.

Gaius took pity and didn’t question them. He had Merlin grab a bowl from the shelf, but didn’t need to give any further instruction; they were all familiar with feeding babies this way. Gwen poured the milk to the brim as Gaius took the bread. Since there was nothing else for Merlin to do, he just cooed at the baby a bit, who was back in his basket and giggling adorably.

“From what I can ascertain,” began Gaius, placing some bread in the bowl. “He most likely was not being breast fed for whatever reason. He’s perfectly fine, besides some moderate malnourishment.”

Gwen wouldn’t stop wringing her hands. “So they - whoever had him last, I mean - were still able to feed him. At least a bit.”

“They certainly tried. While he’s obviously too thin to be entirely healthy, he’s not starving, either. If he was-” -Gaius tickled the baby’s chin and it kicked with all the veracity it could- “- _that_ would not happen. I’d assume he’s at least two months old, and he’s as alert as he should be, which is a good sign. Whoever cared for him last was able to feed him some animal milk regularly.”

“But if they could feed him for that long-”

“-why would they just abandon him like that?” finished Merlin, head aching as he tried to wrap it around some kind of explanation. “I’ve seen families with nothing do everything they can for their children, even the smallest ones. Even when everyone knows they won’t make it very long.” He looked at the innocent bliss on the baby’s face and the aching feeling bled down to his heart.

Gwen nodded. “You don’t just leave them to die. There’s no excuse for it.”

“While I agree with you both, it’s clear that the person - or persons - who left him there believed otherwise,” said Gaius. He sighed, looking between them. “We could spend all night coming up with theories, but it’s no use. The child’s health should be our main concern. I want to keep him here for a few nights, just to keep him under observation, but he’ll need a wet nurse sooner rather than later.”

“I know a few who’ve taken in orphaned infants,” offered Gwen. “I could go around tomorrow, see if anyone would be willing to take another.”

“Thank you, Guinevere,” said Gaius with a smile. He turned to Merlin and nodded at the small pile by the basket. “Merlin, could you wash that? It’s just a small quilt he was lying on. It’s a bit soiled, but not ruined.”

Merlin nodded and picked it up, still struggling as he tried to understand. Something fell from the quilt and hit the floor with a soft thud. He went to bend down, but Gwen had already picked it up and now stood there with a confused look on her face as she turned the wooden disc in her hands.

“What’s this?” she said.

He and Gaius leaned in for a better look. Merlin’s eyes widened at the carved triskele on it. “I’ve seen that before!” He dropped the laundry to pluck the disc out of Gwen’s hands. “It’s the druids’ symbol.”

“ _Druids_?”

“I’m afraid you’re right.” Gaius’ forehead creased as Merlin looked up. “We won’t be needing a wet nurse, then.”

Gwen and Merlin both stared at him.

“He’s a druid child,” said Gaius, as if it were obvious.

Gwen looked back and forth at them. “I still don’t understand.” She looked a little desperately at Merlin, who shrugged in mutual confusion.

Gaius sighed, stepping back. “Druids have a natural inclination for magic. There’s another reason that they’re nomadic besides staying close with nature: their children have absolutely no control over their gifts until they’re old enough to be taught. Imagine how the average citizen of Camelot would react to their child using magic.”

Gwen let out a soft ‘oh’ in understanding. She looked at the baby for a few moments before saying, “But he’s so… _young_. What could he even do?”

“I-” Merlin cut himself off. He shot his eyes towards Gwen, but she simply looked at him, expectant. After a moment, he said, “My mother said that… that the first time I used magic...” - Gwen encouraged him with a nod - “...I was barely three. It was a bad winter. We didn’t have much food, and my mother was only eating as much as she needed to care for me, but even then…” He fiddled with the edge of his sleeve. “There wasn’t enough for the both of us. There was barely enough for one, and even that was practically nothing. I don’t remember any of it; I was too young.

“But apparently, I told my mother after a meal that I was still hungry, and she just started crying. I was only _three_ , I didn’t know what to do. All I knew was that I had to make it better. And my mother- She loves bluebells. So I guess I just remembered that, and wished I had some to cheer her up, and they just… started growing all over the hut. My mother was too shocked to keep crying, so apparently I thought that was a good sign and figured that, hey, I might as well grow some oats while I was at it.”

“Of course you did,” said Gwen. Her voice was fond.

“I know.” He laughed a little to himself, imagining his childhood antics. “The oats lasted us the whole winter. My mother decorated the whole hut in the bluebells, too, and we used them as kindling when they died. She even put some in her hair once the panic was over.”

They were all quiet after that. Merlin and Gwen looked at the supposedly magical baby again until Gaius remembered the bread in the bowl and salvaged what hadn’t been turned to mush, yet. Gwen was more than happy to sit down with the baby in her arms, pressing bits of milk-soaked bread to his mouth for him to suck on, humming a made-up tune in the silence.

Gaius ended up being the one to break it. “We only have two options, far as I can see.” He pulled up a stool and sunk onto it. “The first is to try finding the druids again. Possibly, the baby was left for them to find by someone in Camelot who hoped they could care for him, or another druid group who couldn’t care for him themselves.”

“But we have no idea where they could be,” said Merlin, leaning against the work table. “We might have just missed them.”

“And even then-” said Gwen, “-they might not want him in the first place.”

“Which leads us to our second option.” Gaius looked at the baby with some vague kind of resignation on his face and said, “If push comes to shove, we may have to care for him ourselves.”

Merlin startled. “Wait, we have to _raise_ a _druid_ _child_?”

“It’s only a possibility,” said Gaius, quickly, but it sounded more hopeful than reassuring. “Until we can find some way to contact the druids, he’s our responsibility for the foreseeable future.”

“How long could that take? It’s nearly autumn. There’s no way the druids will stay close to Camelot in winter; they can’t hide their tracks, it’d be too much of a risk.

Gwen added, “And he’ll be too attached by spring to just abandon him with strangers again, even if it’s for his own good.”

“Which is why we should focus on keeping him safe and healthy for the _immediate_ future.” Gaius looked at her kindly. “Gwen, as much as we appreciate your help, please don’t feel obligated to-”

“Oh, don’t worry, I want to help!” she reassured. The baby was apparently full, so she reached for a dish rag nearby, placing it over her shoulder and rearranging the baby till it was upright. She gently patted its back as she said, “He’s so alone, and it’s the least I can do. I also know much more about babies than the two of you - no offense, Gaius.” The baby burped with Gwen looking satisfied with herself.

Merlin made a face.

“None taken,” said Gaius, picking up the bowl and adding it to the rest of their dirty dishes. “I’ve only ever cared for them when they’re just born or ill, and even then, it has always been for a short period of time. I’d still like to keep him around for the next few days, just to make sure he’s alright, but children aren’t my area of expertise. It would be great of you to visit when you can.”

Gwen beamed, moving the baby back into a rocking position. “I’d love to. I’m sure Morgana won’t mind.”

“And Arthur isn’t expecting me back until after tomorrow,” piped up Merlin. “We can leave the basket in in my room. I can care of him tonight.”

“Are you sure, Merlin?” asked Gwen. She looked concerned all of a sudden. “He’s going to be keeping you up all night. You’ll barely sleep.”

Merlin shrugged. “I don’t have anything to wake up early for, and someone needs to watch him. I don’t mind.” He smiled a bit at the baby, who seemed to be falling asleep himself. “He’s too cute to be a problem, anyway.”

Gwen snorted and mumbled something under her breath that was definitely directed at him, but Merlin didn’t get a chance to ask what she said before she realized how late it was and decided to head home. After laying the still sleeping baby in the basket, they placed him next to Merlin’s bed, throwing his mess to the other side of the room and placing the bread and milk (which Merlin quickly enchanted with a food preservation spell that had Gwen enraptured) on his bedside table.

Gaius went ahead to his own room, wishing them both goodnight, but Gwen lingered at Merlin’s door.

“So,” she said, smiling. “Today was… interesting.”

Merlin laughed a little. “You could say that, yeah.”

They stood there for a bit, just smiling at each other till Gwen finally made to turn. “I should go. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“We’re not going anywhere.” He pointed back at the baby.

Gwen rolled her eyes. “ _Goodnight_ , Merlin.”

“G’night, Gwen.”

She walked away and Merlin watched her go, fond. Then she abruptly stopped. He was about to ask what was wrong until she hurried back a few steps to hug him tight.

“I’m not going anywhere either, alright?” She pulled back, looking him in the eyes.

Merlin’s felt them water again, and he didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nodded. That was apparently enough for Gwen. With another smile and a gentle squeeze on his arm, she turned, and Merlin watched until she had closed Gaius’ door behind her. Her muffled footsteps down the stairs were oddly comforting; Merlin stayed where he was, leaning against the doorframe, only closing the door and heading to bed when his friend was long gone. Despite the autumn chill, he felt warmer than he had in a long time. Sleep found him easily.

The same couldn’t be said for the baby. After what felt like a minute but had to be longer, Merlin was roused by a loud whimpering at the base of his bed. He fed him as he’d seen people easily do countless times before, but it turned out to be somewhat harder in practice. Either way, the child was eventually full and Merlin rocked him back to sleep quickly. Merlin was a little slower this time; it took several long minutes of tossing and turning till he finally found a position he could sleep in.

The second time he woke up, Merlin tried to feed him again, but the baby protested with a passion. Merlin wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to do. He could only rock the baby for a considerably longer time than the first, begging him in the sweetest voice to _please go back to sleep_ , which eventually did the trick. Merlin was more than happy to pass out after that.

The third time was much the same, though the fourth was because he’d soiled himself, and it wasn’t until the fifth that there was another feeding. By the seventh, Merlin had given up any last attempts at sleep. Instead, he sat upright with the basket in front of him, rocking the baby despite how dead he felt inside.

“You slept the same as me,” he said over the baby’s wailing. “And I didn’t sleep at all. How are you still _crying_?”

The child pointedly ignored him and continued in his nefarious plot to not let anyone in Camelot get a decent night’s sleep. Despite his countless other accomplishments, Merlin wasn’t sure he could defeat this evil.

“Good morning to the both of you!” called Gaius from the workroom. Merlin whined.

Breakfast was a quiet affair - thanks in no small part to the now sleeping baby who had seemingly declared his job done - and Merlin was too tired to make conversation. Gaius could clearly tell. They didn’t have a mirror, but Merlin was sure he’d have dark circles the next time he looked into one. His uncle had the courtesy to not raise his eyebrows, at least, which meant he had to look _really_ awful.

Gaius turned out to have several appointments spread out over the whole day, but because of the baby, Merlin was forced to stay behind while Gaius escaped the constant mood swings with a happy “Good luck!” thrown over his shoulder. The door slammed behind him. As if on cue, the baby started up again.

“ _How_?” asked Merlin simply, voice filled with awe and utter exhaustion. He picked the child up anyway.

They spent the rest of the morning-to-late-afternoon learning about each other. There wasn’t anything else for Merlin to do, and while he desperately wished he could pass out on the nearest flat surface, the baby had no apparent plans to nap. With no singing ability or real experience with small children, Merlin was at a loss. He eventually just started comparing his attitude to Arthur because, really, their personalities were so similar. They both whined a lot and torturing their shared savior seemed to be a favorite pastime of theirs. Arthur wasn’t the best with children, but Merlin figured they had enough in common to balance that out. Though, he had to admit, “You’re much cuter than he is. Don’t tell him that - he has a very weak ego. It’d be bad for his health.”

The baby gurgled in what Merlin figured was understanding.

At some point, he realized that the only thing that kept the little devil relatively quiet was having Merlin constantly speak to him, so that’s exactly what he did. In between a changing, he talked more about Arthur’s pratt-ness but occasional kindness, along with the rest of Camelot and his other friends there. He talked plenty about Gwen, in particular (“That’s the girl you met yesterday, remember? She’s very nice. You probably like her more than me. I’m sure you wouldn’t keep her awake all night.”), but eventually moved onto Gaius and the strange logic of his eyebrows. This then turned into the story of how they first met. The baby got hungry, so Merlin fed him as he found himself going into the myriad of reasons why he had come to Camelot, which then turned into a jumbled mess of stories and facts about Ealdor that the child watched with rapt attention.

They had just finished a one-sided conversation about how snow, inexperienced warlocks, and neighbors’ cows did not mix in Merlin’s personal experience when there was a knock at the door. It slowly opened to reveal Gwen. She looked like she was trying very hard to be quiet; when she finally found Merlin at the other side of the room with the baby, she grinned, walking in with a tray piled high with fruits and venison and a few pastries that all couldn’t be servants’ food.

“Gwen, you didn’t-” started Merlin, but she just cut him off.

“Gifts from Morgana,” said Gwen, smile wide as she set it down on the table and pulled a stool next to Merlin’s. “She says hello and that you shouldn’t complain because she wanted to give you a nice and early dinner before Arthur had you slaving away again tomorrow.”

Merlin couldn’t argue with that.

He placed the baby back in the basket to eat. Gwen acknowledged him with a warm “Hello to you, too,” and tickled his feet while he made happy sounds.

They ate in silence, but it wasn’t like Merlin’s sad little breakfast with Gaius. It was that sort of quiet that was common between him and Gwen as they did their various chores together. Merlin tended to use his magic for most tasks, but he was just as likely to forgo the efficiency if it meant he got a few nice moments with his friend. As he bit into a pear, he realized he could now have both, and it tasted even sweeter in his mouth.

Eventually, they’d moved onto the pastries. Gwen chose then to break the quiet. “You look like you slept well.”

Merlin glared at her with a mouth full of tart. He imagined it wasn’t a very threatening image; he probably looked more reminiscent of a disgruntled squirrel than anything else. Gwen finally cracked and broke out into a peal of laughter.

“Haha, very funny,” muttered Merlin after she recovered. “ _You_ try sleeping when there’s a baby screaming his head off next to you because he wants to _cuddle_.”

“He’s a _baby_ , what did you expect?”

“I don’t know!” The baby started to fuss. Merlin quickly wiped his hands and pulled him out of the basket, murmuring nonsense while rocking him back and forth. After the danger subsided, he continued, “How was I supposed to? I’ve never taken care of one before.”

When he looked up, Gwen was smiling at him, chin on her hand. “If I didn’t know you any better,” she said, “I would think you were a professional.”

Merlin gaped at her. “Are you being serious?” he said, disbelieving. He shifted to support the baby’s head better.

Gwen stared pointedly at the baby before giving him a look that said, _Are_ you _being serious?_

It took him a few moments to realize, and as he felt his ears grow uncomfortably hot, he said the first thing that came to his head: “Gods, it’s only been one night and I’m turning into a _nurse_.”

It took Gwen nearly three minutes to stop wheezing once her giggle-snorts died down, Merlin’s whole face burning brighter than the sun.

“If it means anything, you are a very good nurse,” said Gwen after she collected herself. Her grin refused to retreat.

Merlin mumbled, “Oh, hush,” and put the dozing baby back in the basket.

They watched the baby fall asleep. After a while, Gwen turned to Merlin in the corner of his eye, opening her mouth as if to speak but hesitating. She swallowed visibly when he turned to look at her. “Gwen?” he whispered, trying not to wake the child.

She hesitated some more before whispering back, “Do you- Um. Can I... Can I ask something about the…?” She waved her hand around in a very vague motion that took Merlin a good while to interpret.

“Oh!” He sat up straighter, fidgeting with his sleeve. “Of course! Ask anything.”

Gwen nodded, and then stopped again, like she hadn’t planned it out yet. Merlin pulled a bit at a stray thread as he watched her think.

“Alright,” she finally said, taking a deep breath. “Alright, so, you’re... a sorcerer. And you were born like that?”

The last bits barely constituted as a breath, they were so quiet, but Merlin heard and nodded anyway.

“Alright... Is that how all of you are? Not that I’m conflating you with every other sorceror out there, or saying you’d know all about them, you’re just one person, but I just-”

“Gwen, _breathe_ ,” said Merlin, laughing a bit as some of the tension bled from his shoulders. He didn’t continue until she did so. “Well, it’s… complicated? There are plenty of us - sorcerers and sorceresses - that are born with magic. It’s like having brown eyes or blonde hair; we can’t help it, and we can’t change it if we tried. Or at least, I couldn’t.”

Gwen nodded, wide eyed, clearly taking it all in best as she could. Merlin cocked his head to the side as he tried wording the next bit. “But there are plenty of others who… aren’t like that. It takes a long time, but there are magic-users who aren’t born with those gifts. I don’t know if anyone can do it, or if they have some kind of dormant magic buried deep inside them, but…” He wasn’t sure how to finish that off.

“...they didn’t grow bluebells in winter when their mother got sad?” Gwen finished for him, softly.

“Yeah. That.”

Gwen hummed. “This is- Wow.” She shook her head. “This is so much. Just a week ago, you were just- _Merlin_. And now...”

“I’m different?”

“No, not different. You’re still Merlin. I’m just seeing more of you, is all.” She placed a hand on his arm and squeezed. “It’s not bad. It’s just a lot to take in.”

Merlin nodded. “I know. I’m sorry you had to find out like that, but I can help you understand, now. If you want.”

“I’d like that,” said Gwen, looking him in the eyes. “I want to know. I want to know everything.”

“You will,” promised Merlin. He moved his arm so that he could now hold her hand instead. “I’ll tell you everything. I promise, no more magic-related secrets.”

Gwen stifled a laugh as they smiled at each other again. “I am grateful for that.”

Eventually, she did have to go back to Morgana, but not before giving Merlin _another_ tight hug and the promise of finding each other again tomorrow.

She ran into Gaius at the door and gave him a short greeting before hurrying happily along with the crumb-covered tray in hand. The old man watched her until the sounds of her footsteps faded away, then turned to Merlin with the raised eyebrow he had _so_ dearly missed this morning.

“What?” said Merlin, wondering of the smile on his face right now was wide enough to possibly split his face in half. It certainly felt that way. He couldn’t find the care to worry about it.

“I haven’t seen you that happy in almost a fortnight,” said Gaius. “I assume Gwen took it well?”

Merlin just nodded. He felt lighter. He just ate food meant for a courtier, how could he be lighter? It didn’t matter. He still wouldn’t stop grinning.

Gaius rolled his eyes and said something else about getting his head out of the clouds, but Merlin wasn’t paying much attention. He turned to the babe so that he could stroke his cheek. The baby squirmed, scrunching his face adorably.

Gwen really wasn’t afraid. She knew his secret, and instead of letting it rest quietly between them, she wanted to _learn_ about it. She was in awe of it. She was in awe of _him_. The warm, fuzzy feeling in his gut grew ten sizes.

Not even Gaius getting tired of being ignored and throwing the still-soiled blanket on his head could bring him down.

Another sleepless night did put a damper on his mood, though. Merlin was even groggier than the day before, and now he had to go from caring for a cranky druid baby to an equally cranky prince - which may not have been harder a job, but it was certainly just as frustrating. He was too tired to say all that out loud and was sure Gaius appreciated it.

He was more than happy to leave the baby with Gaius for the day; he was cute, but after two sleepless nights and a day, Merlin needed a break. The irony that Arthur’s (technically forced) holiday had become even _more_ stressful than his usual job was not lost on him.

By the time he was near Arthur’s chambers, though, the usual light spring had returned to Merlin’s step. Sure, he was back to being at the prince’s beck-and-call. That didn’t mean he couldn’t have fun with it. With that thought, Merlin balanced the breakfast tray in one hand, slammed the door wide open with the other, and cheerfully said, “Rise and shine!”

“Oh, how I missed you, Merlin,” mumbled the Arthur-shaped lump from the bed. Merlin beamed.

“Good to see you, too, sire!” he said, placing the tray on the table before throwing the curtains open and ignoring the groan in protest behind him. “I hope George didn’t spoil you too much?”

Arthur mumbled something sarcastic into his pillow and didn’t move. The smell of his breakfast eventually gave him the strength to sit up, glaring at Merlin with bedhead that only made his smile stretch wider.

The prince stared at him for a few moments before squinting. “You look like death.”

“I’m aware,” deadpanned Merlin, and pulled out Arthur’s chair pointedly. He sighed like the dramatic thing he was before finally stomping out of bed.

“I gave you three days off,” he muttered. He pulled on his shirt and gave Merlin a look as he sat. “You were supposed to rest.”

“I was _going_ to”—Merlin poured his goblet—“but there was a… thing.”

“ _A thing_ ,” said Arthur, and immediately looked like he regretted it.

“Well, it was a baby, to be specific.”

“Do I want to know the rest of this story?”

Merlin shrugged. “Probably not. It’s a really cute baby, though.”

“Send my congratulations to its parents.” Something must’ve shown on Merlin’s face when he said it, though, because Arthur looked at him again and said, “ _Fine_ , explain.”

So Merlin explained (in the most un-druid-related way possible) how he’d gone for a nice walk in the forest only to find a baby just lying between an oak and a bush, brought him safely back to Gaius where they agreed he had been abandoned and was thus thrust unto Merlin, who was suffering his second day of sleep deprivation with no end in sight. “Gwen’s been helping, though,” he added, giving credit where it was due.

Arthur looked more bothered by the whole thing than Merlin had expected. “Infanticide is one of the worst offenses in Camelot. I’ve never heard of someone just leaving a baby to _starve._ ”

“I have,” admitted Merlin, gravely, “but I never saw it till then. He was already so thin. If they thought it better to just leave him like that, I don’t think the law was on their minds, but Gaius says he should make it now that he’s in proper care.”

Arthur nodded, but didn’t add anything else. Merlin noticed he had stopped eating at some point in the story and hadn’t bothered to finish. He couldn’t blame him.

What he certainly _could_ blame Arthur for was the ridiculous amount of chores that seemed to multiply in his absence. From what Merlin could gather from him and the other castle staff, George was a perfect manservant—he fluffed Arthur’s pillows, cleaned and folded his laundry with unmatched precision, polished his armour till it was blinding, sharpened his swords to a deadly and satisfying point, and followed every command without protest or the slightest delay—which apparently had driven Arthur over the edge. Merlin figured he should feel a bit happier about that, but with Arthur making him do all of George’s chores _again_ to “fix” things, it was rather difficult to feel appreciated.

He was still happy to go back to some kind of routine after how wild the past few days had been. By midday, he’d already gotten half of his duties done and had just put down Arthur’s clothes in the laundry room when he remembered the _still_ dirty blanket back with Gaius. He figured he might as well clean that, too, considering how close it was. It also gave him an excuse to check on the baby that he was starting to miss. Only a little.

Merlin remembered why he was happy to leave in the first place as he heard the wailing across the corridor. It was even worse when he opened the door. Before he could say anything, Gaius had pushed the source into his unsuspecting arms.

“Hey, _wait_ ,” protested Merlin, who was promptly ignored as he tried _not_ to drop the flailing child. He turned to Gaius for some kind of explanation, but the man had already stalked away to some kind of green frothing liquid on the worktable, leaving Merlin to just hush the baby with gentle reassurances of _hey, don’t cry, Merlin’s here_ and soft nonsense till his cries turned to whimpers.

Gaius huffed in the corner. “You’re already a natural.”

Merlin looked up at him, seeing his face properly for the first time that afternoon, and his eyes widened. “Gaius,” he said, kindly as he could, “you look awful.”

His hair was a mess, as was his shirt, which was covered in dried milk and other stains that Merlin did _not_ want to identify. His face looked haunted and his eyes possibly bloodshot. It had only been a few hours.

“Like I said before: children are not my calling,” said Gaius. He tried to wipe at something on his shoulder, but it stuck to his hand in a way that had them both making a face.

Merlin looked at him apologetically. “Now you know how I feel, at least.” He moved the baby around so his head rested on Merlin’s shoulder instead of just his hand. “Are you sure you can handle the rest of the afternoon?”

He had never seen Gaius more terrified of anything than in that very moment. “Absolutely _not_ ,” he said with such conviction that Merlin just gaped at him.

“I can’t take care of him! I still have Arthur to deal with, and he’s bad enough on his own!”

“I can’t care for him, either!” Gaius gestured to himself and then the room at large. “I have my own work to worry about. Your duties don’t involve dangerous chemicals.”

“ _Arthur_ is a dangerous chemical!”

Merlin did his best to argue some more, but it was no use; he was thrown back out with nothing but a heavy basket and a dirty blanket a few moments later. He dragged his feet back to the laundry room. With nothing else to be done about it, he went ahead and washed everything, grateful that no one else happened to be doing laundry as he alternated between that and cooing at the baby to keep him calm. Seeing as he stayed in one place the entire time, that was easy enough. Carrying the laundry out to dry while also carrying the baby basket was another story.

He was able to manage, but the chore took twice as long as it usually did. It was already the middle of the afternoon. Arthur’s meeting with his father would be done any moment now, and he would want a bath. Merlin still had to polish his armour, much the stables, and sharpen his swords, none of which were good ideas to keep a baby around for.

Merlin really only had one other option at this point. He felt so _bad_ , though. Obviously Gwen was busy enough as it was, but none of her duties involved angry princes or sharp and heavy metal objects, and she had said Morgana wouldn’t mind. Merlin turned to look at the very high window where her chambers were, before glaring back down at the baby.

“Why do you have to make everything so _difficult_?” he asked. The baby just watched him, half his fingers in his mouth.

After a long hike with many awkward stares, Merlin finally arrived at the door and knocked.

“Who is it?” came Morgana’s voice.

“Uh, it’s Merlin.”

“Coming!” came Morgana’s voice, again, and Merlin prayed the footsteps coming over were Gwen’s.

Morgana opened the door with a smile. Nice as it was, Merlin felt his hopes droop a little, but he was distracted from immediate panic when Morgana glanced down at the basket and gasped in delight. “And what’s your name?” she cooed, leaning down to tickle the baby while he gurgled at her.

Merlin hesitated. “Oh, well- I actually don’t know.”

She looked at him in confusion and, after being invited in to sit by her vanity, explained the whole thing again. Once he was done, Morgana looked down at the baby who she’d immediately placed in her arms with sympathy. “Oh, poor babe. Have you found a nurse maid yet?”

Merlin very well considered sharing the druid detail - this was Morgana, after all - but decided against it. “Not yet. Gaius wants to make sure there’s nothing more wrong with him, first, but Gwen knows a few. She’s been really helpful.”

“So _that’s_ why she insisted on eating with you yesterday.” At Merlin’s look, Morgana explained, “We usually eat lunch together, but she said she was meeting you for something. I understand why it was so important.”

“Yeah. Thanks for the meal, by the way, you really didn’t have to.”

Morgana just waved off his thanks. “No, please, it wasn’t any trouble. Especially when I _know_ Arthur doesn’t bother feeding you properly.” Then, holding the baby up: “No, he doesn’t, does he? Not like Morgana. Who’s the better Pendragon? Who is it? Is it me? It _is_ me, _yes-_ ” and cooed more to him about her superior moral character while Merlin watched in slight discomfort.

He was saved by more rapid knocking on the door. “Ugh, who is it?” said Morgana, looking very put-off at the interruption.

“It’s me,” said Arthur, and Merlin’s eyes went wide. Shit, the meeting- he’d forgotten how late it was. “Have you seen Merlin? I can’t find him anywhere, and half of his chores aren’t done!”

Merlin looked at Morgana pleadingly, hands clasped as he begged. “Oh, well,” she said slowly, “He actually stopped by earlier. He mentioned something to Gwen about... helping Gaius with a…?” She looked to him and they just gestured at each other vaguely.

“Probably the _baby_ ,” muttered Arthur, filling the silence. Merlin could practically _hear_ him pout.

“Yes, I think that was it! He sounded _very_ annoyed. I think he said it would take all day?” She looked to Merlin, who nodded in encouragement. “Yes, that’s what he said!”

Arthur groaned on the other side of the door. “ _Fine_. Thank you, Morgana.”

“My pleasure. And look at this way,” she said, grin turning a little evil, “you get to have another lovely evening with George!”

The sound he made at _that_ had Morgana cackling while Merlin was barely able to stifle his laughter. A moment later, they could hear Arthur having a muffled conversation down the hall, followed by a very confused Gwen walking in and taking the three of them in.

“Why do _you_ have the baby”—she pointed to Morgana—“and why did Arthur just ask me if I had any news of _you_?” she finished, pointing to Merlin, who then had to explain the whole situation with Gaius to the both of them.

When he finished, Gwen was sitting next to Morgana and holding the baby again as she winced. “That’s inconvenient.”

“I know,” said Merlin. “I was hoping you could take care of the baby the rest of the evening, but since today’s been settled, we need to come up with a plan for tomorrow and the day after that.”

Morgana looked between the both of them. “Couldn’t you both just… switch him off?”

“What do you mean?” asked Gwen.

“Well, you know- You both can take turns through the day. I obviously don’t mind, and if Arthur wants to keep you around, he’ll have to simply get used to it.”

Merlin sighed. “That’s the best idea so far,” he said. Gwen agreed.

Morgana, seemingly pleased, clapped her hands together. “Right. Now that that’s taken care of, we have a bigger problem.”

“What problem?” said Merlin and Gwen, simultaneously.

“You can’t keep calling him ‘the baby’ forever.” Morgana looked at them like it was obvious. It was, Merlin supposed, though he wasn’t sure what she was getting at.

“Wait, are we naming him now?”

They apparently _were_. Before Merlin could fully register just what was going on, he’d switched places with Morgana, who was now seated at her desk with a paper and quill as Gwen offered possible names.

“Gerard?”

“No, too old. Erick?”

“Doesn’t fit. Brice?”

“Maybe.” She scribbled it down. “Merlin, any ideas?”

Merlin, who was mostly still trying to adjust to whatever was currently happening, could only shake his head.

“I’ve always like Cedric,” offered Gwen with a small smile.

Merlin grimaced. “I knew a Cedric once. It didn’t end well.”

Morgana hummed and added it to the “maybe” list.

“What if we’re casting too big of a net?” said Merlin, quickly. “We could come up with names based on their first letter and see how that goes.”

Somehow, that was _worse_. “Aulfric?” said Morgana.

“ _No_ ,” said Merlin.

“Aldwyn?” said Gwen. She winced the moment it left her mouth.

After a moment, Morgana gasped. “Anhora!” she said, like it was perfect, but Merlin shook his head with wide eyes.

“Merlin, you’re not being very helpful.”

He shrugged. “Sorry. I’ve just… known too many people?”

Morgana rolled her eyes, while Gwen gave him a side-eye.

After a few moments, Gwen said, “What about Aiken?”

Merlin thought about it. “That means ‘oaken’, right? Sounds nice.”

Gwen nodded and Morgana smiled. “See? Now we’re getting somewhere.”

That somewhere still wasn’t very helpful. They spent the next few minutes throwing several similar names back and forth, but as the list grew longer, they became less satisfied. With less names to shoot down, Merlin tried to think up some possibilities.

He thought back to Ealdor. The spring before he left home, there’d been a handful of new babies born. Naming them had been a village-wide event, and even though Merlin hadn’t been very helpful at the time, he tried to remember what he’d heard the others say then. It wasn’t until he looked down at the baby sleeping peacefully in Gwen’s arms that a name from the jumble stuck out to him.

“What about Adair?” he said. “It means ‘oak tree ford’. And I found him under an oak tree near a ford.” He played with one of the baby’s curls, smiling at the way he scrunched his face up in his sleep. “It fits.”

“I like that,” said Gwen. She was smiling at the baby. “What do you think of that, little one?”

He kicked a little in his sleep.

Morgana nodded to herself at the desk. “If that’s the one name we can all agree on, then Adair it is.” She set the quill down and leaned back, satisfied.

Merlin leaned closer and whispered, “Hello, Adair.”

If he wanted to, he could pretend that the baby smiled at the name.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll try updating by the 15th but I'm also a full-time English student so if I post anything before Thanksgiving it'll be a success.


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